


Target Audience

by MichellesPenScratchz



Series: My Preposterous Borderlands Extended Universe [9]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Fluff, Kissing, Light-Hearted, Love, Post-Borderlands 3 (Video Game), Pregnancy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24133456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichellesPenScratchz/pseuds/MichellesPenScratchz
Summary: Rhys and Sasha rekindled their flame after the Maliwan War, and will soon welcome a baby boy. After Sasha's baby shower, Rhys surprises her with one more gift--a copy of her own favorite children's book. When he turns the first page to read "Chester The Chubby Varkid" to their unborn child, he finds himself catching a glimpse of Sasha's own troubled Pandoran childhood.
Relationships: Rhys/Sasha (Borderlands)
Series: My Preposterous Borderlands Extended Universe [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873684
Comments: 28
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

“Go ahead, guess.” Sasha held her coffee mug out of the way, reached over on the couch and tapped Rhys’ left eyelid softly with her fingertip. “No cheating.”

“Ha ha, I’m pretty confident I know our inner circle without the help of a database,” he said, surveying the bounty of baby shower gifts Sasha had received that day. “Let’s see…” He pointed to the biggest gift—a diaper cake, with a stuffed Thracian Tetrabear on top, wearing a sweater with ‘Nephew’ printed on it. “Gonna put my money where my mouth is and say that’s from Fiona.”

“Oh, she said to give you a message.” Sasha cleared her throat. “ _‘If my nephew turns out as full of it as you, then I’ll be back with another of these just as soon as he gets here.’_ ”

Fortunately, Sasha knew, Rhys was fluent in ‘Fiona-speak’ by now. He smirked at the secondhand barb, decoding within it Fiona’s promise to come and see her nephew when he was born. “Tell her even with a howling newborn, it would be just too quiet here without her,” he retorted.

Next to the cake was a nursery bookcase laden with children’s books. “Springs and Athena went halfsies on that,” he predicted. “And I’m guessing Springs wrote and self-published most of the books?”

Sasha nodded. “She recommends ‘The Lovely Gladiator And The Beastly Kraggon’ first,” she said.

Beside that was a mobile for a crib, made of mismatched metal pieces. In lieu of the traditional mini stuffed animals, there were dazzling trinkets a Vault Hunter might hang from a gun. “…Amara?”

“Gortys,” Sasha corrected. “She made it herself.”

“No kidding. Is there any end to her talents?” Rhys looked over the gifts again. There was also a barbed brass knuckle, decorated like a fanged and horned skull. “Annnd…you got me.”

“Yeah, uh…Zahnzi Kall sent that over with Fiona. She said it’s to ‘defend the weak and innocent from the gluttony of flesh-eaters when the protection of the womb is inevitably forfeit.’ …Or, at least that’s what Vaughn says she said in the card.”

“Heh…I mean, we have Zer0 and the whole Lance here to deal with…uh… _flesh-eaters._ But, it’s the thought that counts.” Rhys looked the gifts over again. “Hey, speaking of the Lance, you didn’t get anything from Lorelei? I thought you two were cool.”

Sasha lifted the steaming mug in her hand. “This is from Lorelei. It’s only decaf, don’t freak. But it comes with a solemn pledge that our weekly coffee outings have been sorely missed and will resume as soon as it’s okay for me again.”

“There, what did I tell you, Sweetheart? Everything goes back to normal sooner or later.”

Sasha gave a soft sigh through her nose and looked out the window at the Meridian City skyline, always busy with hovercrafts and glistening with neon and chrome architecture. “Normal” was such a relative concept in her experience. Normal started as life on the run, crammed into a ramshackle caravan with her big sister and emotionally distant foster father. It had been like they were the only three people in the world; everyone else was just a walking cash machine waiting for their “Withdraw” button to be found.

Then Normal became here on Promethea with Rhys. She had friends… _real_ friends. She had an actual job doing the thing she would have gladly done just for fun: pulling every new Atlas trigger and giving it the thumbs up or down. Most unexpected of all, she had someone lying next to her every night who was downright addicted to her happiness. Someone whose trust and love she could just accept, and return, without ever having to cash it out.

For awhile, it seemed that this Normal would blow up on her, too. Between the Maliwan war and…other things, she thought it was time to scoop up the scattered pieces and move on again. But one fortuitous reunion, and a few dispenses of sorry’s and forgivenesses, and she got her Normal back. They both did.

It had always seemed a little too big of a Normal for her, though…especially after stepping up from that tiny cramped caravan to the top of a monolithic glass tower. But the newest upgrade to Normal that had been growing inside her for the last few months was certain to fill it out more.

“I have, er, a little something for you, too,” Rhys said, and she could hear the reluctance in his voice. “…I meant that as the plural ‘you,’ by the way.”

She turned back from the window, and he was fumbling between the couch cushions to produce a wrapped gift. “Aww, thanks Hon.” She placed the coffee mug in a cupholder attached to the couch’s armrest, and took the gift. The wrapping actually stuck to his hand for a split second with perspiration before it yielded totally to her. She tore it open, and there inside was a relic from one of the better parts of her hard-knock childhood.

“Wow. _‘Chester The Chubby Varkid,’_ ” she intoned the book’s title. “I almost forgot about this! Fiona read it to me all the time, before Felix took us in.” She turned back to him. “How did you—? Fiona must have told you, right? I’m pretty sure I never mentioned it.”

A guilty smile. “Actually, I….did the thing.” He tapped on his own left eyelid. “Sorry.”

“Oh.” She raised an eyebrow. “And when was this?”

“That time we drove out to the Biodome, looking for Gortys’ chassis.”

She exhaled sharply upwards, sending her bangs billowing. “I don’t even want to know how that information got in the Hyperion database,” she grumbled. “…But I’m seriously kinda impressed you remembered something like that for so long.”

“Hey.” He tapped this time on his temple. “It’s a steel trap in here.”

“Right. Well…” She thumbed the few, brightly colored pages. “This really takes me back, Rhys. Kinda funny. I never thought I’d get nostalgic about being a street urchin.”

“Sooo…” he drew the syllable out. “Does…that mean you like it?”

She nodded. "It's great. You sure know how to pick 'em.”

"Um, _yeah?_ Tell me something I _don't_ know," he boasted, beaming.

“…Don’t tell Springs her books didn't 'win' the baby shower, though,” she said. “Or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Silent as the grave,” he vowed, hand raised. “…Hey, there’s actually something else that goes with it,” he added.

She flipped through the pages, looking to see if something was wedged inside. Nothing. She checked the back cover to see if something was taped to it. Nothing still. “…Okay, you win,” she said, outstretching her hand expectantly. “I’m officially curious. What is it?”

He supplied her hand with his own, and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Promise not to laugh?”

She pivoted her palm so their hands aligned, and pressed all five of her fingertips against his. “Let’s say I tentatively promise to consider not laughing.” She winked. “But I _am_ totally sincere about it.”

“It’s…I’d like to read it right now. To him. If-f, that’s okay with you.”

She blinked. Something welled in her chest. _Hormones,_ she thought. _That’s just hormones._

“Would that be weird?” he asked. “I’ve given presentations to some inattentive, drooling audiences before…but the prenatal demographic? Kinda outside my target market.” He forced a laugh and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I just…wanted him to know me already, at least a little, when he gets here.”

She didn’t laugh. She did blink again, though…very hard this time. _Stop making me feel things, you little symbiote,_ she mentally commanded the baby inside her. She couldn’t be the pushover parent; she had to be the practical one. Especially since Rhys continued to insist on…being Rhys.

She smiled. “Maybe it’s a little weird,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “But, it couldn’t hurt to get him used to your brand of weirdness early on. Hell, you’ve already infected his genes with it.” She ushered his hand to her rotund abdomen. “Poor little guy deserves to know what he’s up against.”

“Oh, not to worry.” He gave her tummy and its occupant an affectionate pat. “My son will be fully acclimated by the time he’s ready to have The Sock Talk.”

“Ugh.” She wrinkled her face. “I’m still hoping that skips a generation.”

“Not a chance. That one’s a dominant gene in Strongforks. Really—it’s there in our family register. ‘Sock connoisseurs.’” He reclined on the couch, stretched out his legs and very deliberately kicked his shoes off to display the current proof of this claim. Today’s footwear selection was a mural of giant polka dots interlaced with angular shapes—almost like circuitry—all splashed with green, pink and orange pastels. The heels and toes were a bright blue.

_Who else shops for these?_ she wondered.

“Are you comfy here?” He crossed his ankles, put an arm around her shoulders and picked the book up. “Can I go ahead and do this?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” She nestled her head into the base of his neck. Most of his excess height was in those stilt-like legs, currently sprawled out several inches past her feet, toes wriggling inside those tubular kaleidoscopes. Whenever she was sitting (or lying) next to him, they were almost on the same level. She took advantage of the novelty by pasting a kiss to his cheek. “Go for it. He’s all ears.”

She settled in, sipped her decaf, and might have hoped just a little bit that they were done with calamities for a good long while, and this Normal could last for a more normal length of time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reading Sasha's favorite childhood book aloud proves something of a culture shock for Rhys.

Today had been Sasha’s day to get pampered by friends and family, but it had been business as usual for Rhys. While she was having gifts of decaf coffee and cleverly arranged diapers bestowed, he was wading through an agenda more crammed than a sardine can. He recalled the last thing he saw on his desk before he packed up for the day: a stack of applications that he continued to put off. Why Atlas couldn’t hang onto its janitors for more than three months was beyond him.

Before that, the grand re-opening of Fran’s Frogurt would have been a pleasant diversion, except he had to insist to the new Fran once more in person that the flavor he’d suggested in the ECHO-Net survey should be called “Rhys-berry Ball-mond,” not “Raspberry Almond.” Still, it was a veritable jubilee on his tastebuds. He knew the brave, metallic jazz warrior it honored was smiling down from a better place.

At the start of the day, he had reluctantly agreed to another chat with Shanneth Kyrie for _Your Morning Meridian_ , figuring enough time had passed that the flub in his last interview would be mostly forgotten. That had gone alright at first. Maliwan’s and Jakobs’ leadership changes had given Atlas a momentary advantage, and the self-made CEO could hardly pass up a chance to talk about that. Then out of left field the bubbly host lobbed, “You’ve got to end the suspense: when are you going to pop the question to Miss Sasha?” Rhys thought a makeup crew would emerge on camera to cover up the bright red blush.

Since coming to Promethea, he had always tried to keep his business and personal lives separate. Luckily Sasha was a pro at that. When she clocked in as Atlas’ Lead Weapons Tester she became another person, just like she had as a con-artist. That had its upsides…when he saw her all day every day, but couldn’t hold her in his arms until clock-out, she never stopped being all he wanted.

Of course, there was a downside, too. When she’d vanished just before the Maliwan conflict, he’d lost her twice. First as a loyal Atlas defender he could rely on when Katagawa Jr. started waving bribes and threats around to his people. Second, more deeply, he’d lost her as his soulmate. Bagels and frogurt (no matter how many favorite flavors he claimed) were suddenly just a substitute for her best egg sandwich. The cost of renting out Lazy River Land for his team’s Company Day felt less justified if she wouldn’t be there sunbathing on a beach chair. Without her, life on Promethea was only half-lived. Getting her back was a miracle. Funny how those seemed to seek her out. Like the watch, and now their unborn son.

He swept the wayward thoughts aside as Sasha kissed his cheek, laid her head on his shoulder, and gave him the okay to read “Chester The Chubby Varkid” aloud. He was so glad she didn’t laugh at the idea; she couldn’t know how much it meant to him. On this momentous occasion, he could finally stop the internal broken record saying “I’m going to be a father,” and start telling himself “I’m a father.”

Because for real…the sooner he managed to get his mind around that sentence, the better.

He lolled his head down as much as he could without disturbing Sasha’s on his shoulder, as if that would make his voice any clearer to the baby inside her. “Hey…” he began, and then trailed off. They hadn’t decided on a name yet, since she had too few ideas for boys’ names, and he had too many. (Getting the sex revealed early hadn’t expedited that executive decision like he’d hoped.)

_‘Junior’_ didn’t feel right just now. All these years, and _‘Kiddo’_ still wouldn’t roll off his tongue, either.

“Hey, Lil’ Bud,” he decided. “I’m going to tell you a story now. That’s kind of a thing I do. You’ll figure that out soon enough.”

“Second that,” Sasha murmured with a sip of her decaf.

“This one was your mom’s favorite.” He showed the book to her stomach…and immediately felt her head shift on his shoulder to give him that look. “…I’m holding it up for you currently,” he added, “but your mom’s so excited to hear it again that she’s getting in your way with her big belly.”

Sasha gasped sharply and tensed. “Whoa,” she breathed, hand on navel. “Rhys. I felt a kick.”

“Really?” His stomach did a cartwheel. “Can I feel?”

“Sure.” Her foot _whumped_ into his calf.

“D-oof!” He winced. “…You see what I put up with, Bud? Hope you’re on my side.” He cracked open the book and cleared his throat. “Without further ado, let’s begin ‘Chester The Chubby Varkid.’ Please hold all questions, burps and thumb sucking until the end of the presentation.”

The first page was a splash of browns and blues that took him right back to Pandora…but in the best way possible. In the center was a scattering of green-ish pods with larval varkids coming out. The illustrator had made a noble effort to sell their cuteness, Rhys had to admit.

“Chester and his brothers come out in the sun,” he read. “They flap their new wings. _Thrum, thrum, thrum.”_

Sasha made a wistful noise in her throat. “Fiona would roll the R’s at that part,” she said in a far-off voice. _“Thr-r-r-um, thr-r-r-um.”_

“I stand corrected. ‘ _Thr-r-r-um, thr-r-r-um.’”_ Rhys flicked his cyber thumb at top of the book to turn the page. His state-of-the-art, red paisley arm boasted the closest-to-life sensitivity available in cybernetics, even with tiny laser cuts mimicking fingerprints. That made page-turning less of a precision exercise, despite his left arm currently occupied by a drowsy Sasha.

The fledgling monstrosities on the page looked overjoyed at their newly discovered power of flight. “They learn to take to the air today…” On the opposite page a coiled, tentacled being laid in wait. “Maybe the threshers would like to play.”

This was nice, Rhys thought. He could already see his son a few months from now, a pacifier wedged between his toothless gums, his hazel eyes fixed on Gortys’ mobile as they slowly shrank closed, absorbing the dozenth encore of this tale of monsters living in harmony on Pandora.

Rhys turned the page. “Um…” He blinked a few times at the splattering of green bug guts that greeted him. “Threshers think varkids are a yummy snack. They hurt Chester’s family. _Squash! Poik! Whack!”_

The next few pages recounted, without ever breaking their rhyme, the violent deaths of Chester’s brothers at the whim of the cruel threshers. Some of the varkids had managed to burrow and metamorph into their adult forms first, but even that just gave the book illustrator an excuse to plaster the later pages with still greater quantities of bug gore.

“Chester is sad, his brothers are gone. He needs to be stronger, so he can live on. …Jeez,” Rhys paused at the page where poor Chester gazed over the strewn remains of his varkid brethren, human-like tears falling from his insectoid eyes. “Is this seriously what you grew up on, Sasha?”

“Hm?” She stirred, like she was almost asleep until hearing her name. “Well, I think it’s relatable.”

“Relatable?” he echoed. “I thought this was a children’s book.”

“It is,” she said. “A _Pandoran_ children’s book. What, you thought we got tucked in to stories about learning to share, and practice good hygiene? Nope—we went to sleep at night learning about survival.” She looked up at him. “Pandora didn’t _just_ start to suck when you grew up, you know.”

He considered that. “Yeah. That makes sense,” he conceded. He stared off into space, allowing the book to close slowly around the finger that marked the page.

He must have zoned out a second too long for Sasha’s comfort. “You okay, Hon?” She sat up, alert. “Should I tell Zer0 we have a Code Cyan?”

Rhys shook his head. “Code Cyan” meant compromised cybernetics. He knew Sasha kept an EMP device on her at all times for just such an emergency, but since she obviously wasn’t as swift as her usual self right now, Zer0 was also “Cyan Certified.” …Which was to say he could be relied on to cleave his employer’s arm off with a saber in the event it…became a hazard to anyone.

“No, we’re good. It’s not a Code Cyan,” Rhys said. “I was just thinking. In school, I was scared of dodgeball-induced concussions. It’s freaky to think that at the same time I was learning to duck in gym class, there you were on Pandora…a little girl…learning every day how not to get stabbed.” He brought his hand up instinctively to stroke her hair. “I mean, I always knew that about you on some level. But this?” He gave the book a wave. “This is a legit eye-opener.”

Sasha took his hand away from her hair—not forcefully—and held it in her own. “That better not be pity I’m hearing, now.”

“It’s not,” he assured her. “It’s called a compliment. You really hung in there. That’s pretty incredible.”

“Heh, I appreciate it, but that’s just how it was. I got out, didn’t I? With…some help.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “And if it’s him you’re worrying about,” she rubbed her belly, “I promise to teach him everything I know about how not to get stabbed.” She gave a reassuring smile. “There’s not much to it, really. Pointy end, bad. Done.”

“Sash.” He gave her a serious look. “I’m not worried about that. Our boy will be round-the-clock safe, even if I have to buy out Pangolin to cover the nursery with shields.”

“I’m not the business expert, but buying out Pangolin sounds a bit like overkill.”

“All I’m saying is, I won’t let him go through what you did,” he said. “But, I hope he still ends up more like you.”

She blinked. “I…” She fell silent and turned away, in that abrupt conversation-ending way of hers. He wondered if he had embarrassed her.

When she continued not saying anything for a few more moments, he turned back to the book. “So let’s see…wanton slaughter…inconsolable grief…okay, here we are. ‘Chester digs deep in the ground. He springs out big, strong, and all round.’”

Another page turn, and he drew a breath to begin detailing Chubby Chester’s heroic charge against the thresher menace.

The words were stolen from his throat as Sasha leaned heavily into him and pressed her lips to his. Her fingers slid under his vest and latched onto the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer to her. The sensations that filled him were an even mix of surprise, confusion and mirth. He bookmarked Chester’s exploits with one finger again to bring both arms tightly around her. She gelled into him as they kissed.

When they parted she blinked hard, though there was no hiding that hint of dampness at the corner of her eyes, even as she brushed them stubbornly into her shoulders one at a time.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “For saying there should be more of me.”

“You kidding?” he said, giving her earlobe an affectionate pinch. “Thank you for _being_ you.”

“Just so you know,” she said, drawing back to her position against his side on the couch. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he took after you a little.”

“Oooh, was that a compliment? Careful, Sweetheart. You might hurt yourself.”

Her head returned to his shoulder. “Better tell Lil’ Bud what happens next,” she said simply. “We can’t leave it on a cliffhanger.”

With his arm now tighter around her, and his head on top of hers, he made his way to the final page.

“He is now flying on as Chester The Chubby Varkid. So sleep tight and wake stronger, just like he did.”


End file.
